A girl plots to steal an advantage

By Jo Green

In the sixth form at St Giles academy in a commuter town near London, like everywhere, Covid-19 had led to major changes in the way things were being run. The A-level exams were cancelled and course work and internally set tests were to determine the grades of students. Entire subject groups and bubbles were in and out of school like a dance on fast forward. Linda Evans was Head of History and was in the latter stages of setting her group two tests to be taken in just over a week’s time. Friday was the last day of half term and only her class on the second floor and two on the floor below were in the sixth form block. All the rest were working remotely, yet again after a series of positive tests for Covid.

The final lesson of the day saw the upper sixth, 9 students in all, working on Tudor political history, which was a big hint as to one or more possible questions on Monday when the tests were due. The lesson sped by as all of the students seemed very focused. All but one. Gemma Davies was a bright girl, but poorly motivated. Her mum was a senior doctor in London at one of the larger prestigious hospitals, and her father was something big in the city, whatever that meant. If this were an American High School film, Gemma would be the homecoming queen with all the boys swooning around her, driving her shiny red soft top car. However, in suburban London, she was seen as spoiled and seemingly relying on her father’s reputation to get her into university, as her work was not up to the standard expected from her. It was suspected she spent a lot of time at home on her own, or at least without parental supervision, and she basically could come and go as she pleased and do whatever she wanted. She dressed provocatively and had been warned a couple of times for showing too much cleavage or leg. That day was no exception. Despite it being February, she sported a low cut t-shirt, short flowing skirt and hold up stockings which barely made it to her skirt hem.

Towards the end of the lesson, Linda Evans started to give a few tips regarding the test papers, which she waved at them menacingly, bringing forth the expected groans she had planned for. The final bell went and the students disappeared down the hall and into the stairwell. Linda Evans had a little work to finish before Brian, her husband, was due to pick her up. He had been at a meeting in Brighton all day, so had gone in her car rather than risk public transport. He was due back around about 4.30 pm. It was now 3.45 and she decided to get a coffee to see her through the marking she wanted to get out of the way before the half term break. There was a small staff room on the same floor and she left her cup by the kettle before going to refresh her make-up.

Meanwhile, Gemma Davies had been hiding in the stairwell, keeping watch through the small window in the door and hoping Mrs Evans would do exactly what she was doing. Silently, Gemma opened the door and ran to Mrs Evans’ room, which was the first room on the right. On the teacher’s desk, over by the window, was a pile of marking along with the two test papers, which were the aim of Gemma’s raid on the office. Gemma took out her phone and quickly took pictures of each page in turn, put the tests back, but upside down, and then headed for the door where she ran straight into Mrs Evans. The teacher’s coffee went bouncing across the floor, and Mrs Evans stood stunned for a few seconds.

“Are you OK, Gemma? You aren’t burnt, are you?” was her first reaction. “Did you forget something Gemma?” she asked, beginning to wonder what the girl was doing in her office. “Come and have a seat.” It was an instruction, not a request.

As Mrs Evans neared her desk, she could see the tests on the desk facing her, whereas they should have been facing the other way. She put on her teacher’s poker face and sat down, as did Gemma.

“I’m OK, Miss, honest. I really need to be going. I’ll be expected home,” Gemma said, looking extremely nervous.

“Gemma, I wasn’t born yesterday. I know what you have been doing. You have been sneaking a look at these test papers. I suspect you have taken photos as well, either for your own use or for circulation to your friends. Hand me your phone, please.” Again, this was an instruction not a request.

“No, why should I?” Gemma said in a strop.

“Because otherwise we are going straight to the headmistress’s office,” which was a bluff as Mrs Evans knew the headmistress, Tina, was already on her way to the airport for the half-term break.

Quick as a flash, Gemma took out her phone and, with well-practiced fingers, she erased all the images she had taken. With a sly look on her face, she dropped the phone onto the desk. Mrs Evans was furious, but tried not to show it outwardly.

“There, prove it! No evidence and no witnesses, so there isn’t a thing you can do about it, Miss,” the little madam said, looking the teacher directly in the eye and saying ‘Miss’ as sarcastically as she could.

That was it, two could play at that game. Gemma was a spoiled brat. If Mrs Evans had behaved like that when she was Gemma’s age, she would have felt her mum’s or dad’s hand across her backside. It was likely Gemma had never been punished properly once in her 18 years. Mrs Evans decided that was about to change. Spanking in education had been outlawed in the UK for over 30 years, but apparently in Gemma’s life rules were just there to be broken.

Mrs Evans took hold of the Gemma’s hand and pulled her towards her as she sat down on one of the empty chairs in the room. Gemma did not resist as she was taken very much by surprise and had no idea what was going on, or indeed what was about to happen to her. At that point, Linda Evans became acutely aware that what she was intending to do was technically illegal. Additionally, she also realised she had never actually spanked someone. It was going to be a steep learning curve.

She did as her own mother had done and used her weight as she sat down to drag Gemma screaming and kicking across her lap and into that all-too-familiar spanking position. Thinking quickly, she clamped Gemma’s legs in between her own so the girl couldn’t kick out. Gemma shouting was not an issue as by now they would certainly be the only two in the building, and tucked away on the top floor no one could hear.

Using her left hand, Mrs Evans pressed the small of Gemma’s back down so her bottom was well presented. Before she lost her grip, the teacher started to spank. She had little real idea what she was doing. Was it hard enough? Was it not hard enough? Her hand was not stinging, so she figured she could probably go a little harder, and did. That seemed to hit the mark. The general noise from Gemma became much more focused on the pain she was now feeling through her bottom. Cries of “Ouch!” and “Oh!” replaced the cursing and foul language which had been present as Gemma went across her teacher’s knee a few moments earlier. Linda Evans was making a good job of giving her very first spanking.

As Linda Evan’s hand repeatedly struck Gemma’s helpless bottom, the girl began to cry quite openly, which the teacher did not expect. As the struggling diminished, Mrs Evans took the opportunity to whip up what little skirt Gemma was wearing, a thin cotton garment. Mrs Evans was slightly taken aback at what she had revealed. She expected to see a pair of panties covering a reddening bottom. Instead, she was greeted by a pair of exposed buttocks with the tiniest piece of black silk G-string she had ever seen. It was certainly not appropriate for school, especially with only a short pelmet of a skirt over the top. No wonder the boys flocked around Gemma. Undaunted, the teacher spanked onto bare skin, the slaps rather more personal now as her hand spanked flesh. With Gemma’s bottom now looking quite red, Mrs Evans thought best to stop at that point.

“OK, Gemma, I hope you have learned your lesson. Oh, and that thong is hardly appropriate underwear for school,” she told her firmly.

“You cow! I am going to report you. You’ll be sacked and sent to prison by the time I am finished with you,” Gemma told the teacher through floods of tears, while rubbing her sore bottom. It appeared to offer precious little relief from the stinging, so the teacher presumed she had done a good job.

“Well Gemma, to quote your own words back to you, there are no witnesses and no evidence.”

At that point, Gemma lifted her skirt and pointed to her red sore bottom.

“Ahh, but I know your parents are not home. I overheard you telling a friend you would have the house to yourself tonight. And there is no one here in the building,” Linda Evans added with relish. “You, my girl, have received exactly what you deserved and probably should have had from your parents years ago. I will of course change the tests in case you have managed to send any files to anyone. Now get out of my sight.”

Turning her back, Mrs Evans triumphantly heard the still-sniffling girl leave the room.

By now, it was time for Brian to pick her up, so the teacher tidied up and picked up her files. Her hand was actually stinging quite badly from its encounter with Gemma’s backside, but she was not in the slightest bit bothered. She locked her room, went down the stairs and saw Gemma on the path across the playing fields as her husband came into the car park. Linda couldn’t wait to tell him what she had just done. He was amazed, not thinking she had it in her. He was worried about the trouble she could get into but, as there was no proof, all seemed well and the matter was never mentioned again.

Gemma, after the half-term break, was actually rather more polite towards Mrs Evans and actually did fairly well in the tests. Maybe a spanked bottom was exactly what she needed, and should have been done long ago.

The End

© Jo Green 2022